THE OLD ADAGE aptly says that we don’t know what we’ve got till it’s gone. Anette was so used to waking up to the scent of coffee and freshly baked bread that Tuesday morning’s lack of aromas seemed as wrong as tartar sauce on liverwurst. The bedroom was empty. Svend must have gotten up with Gudrun, but clearly he hadn’t started making breakfast. Disoriented, she got up and opened the bedroom door. Not a sound. Wherever Svend had gone, he had taken the baby and the dogs with him.

She staggered into the shower and turned the temperature way down in an attempt to wake up. The night had been one long series of dreams about naked skin and water, and she had woken up several times with a body quivering with sexual shivers. Had she had an actual orgasm in her dream? She forced her head under the water. The road back to reality was foggy and difficult, but the cold on her scalp helped a little. She gasped, turned off the shower, and rubbed herself with the towel until she was warm and clean, free of dirty dreams and foggy fantasies. She got dressed and listened for voices, halfway hoping that she would be able to leave for work before her family came home.

As she stood at the kitchen table pouring cereal into a bowl, the front door opened and the dogs raced in with wet paws and hungry devotion. She petted them, got out kitchen towels to wipe their muzzles and their paws, poured food into their bowls, and gave them fresh water. Just as she was pouring milk into her cereal, Svend appeared in the doorway.

“We got caught in a downpour. Could you just take her?”

Anette took her daughter and put a big kiss on her rain-soaked cheek before carrying her into the bathroom to dry her off, tickle her, and dress her in dry clothes.

When they were done she found Svend in the kitchen with a cup of instant coffee and the newspaper open in front of him. She put Gudrun in her high chair and buttered some crispbread for her, sliced an apple into wedges, and poured her some milk.

“Good morning by the way. Where were you guys?”

“Went for a walk,” Svend answered with his head buried in the newspaper. “To get the paper. She’s exhausted, so I’m keeping her home from day care today.”

Anette turned on the electric kettle and spooned ground coffee into the French press.

“You didn’t bake this morning?”

He didn’t respond, just shrugged, as if it was trivial. Which it would have been for anyone else, but not for Svend. He hadn’t even kissed her good morning!

Anette sat down with her bowl.

“Is something wrong?”

He looked slowly up from the paper, his eyes glazed and distant.

“I’m just a little tired. Gudrun was up at five a.m. again.”